Sex Writing

My Recipe

Wouldn’t it be nice if you could be handed an information sheet about people when you first meet them? Something that let’s you know who you’re dealing with. Sort of like looking at a recipe – these are the things that add up to this person. I offer the world, my recipe, my list, me, in no particular order:

If I’m voicing my opinion, I believe I’m right. I wouldn’t say anything otherwise; I will admit when I’m wrong, sometimes only begrudgingly.

I need a minimum of seven hours of sleep to be remotely pleasant in the morning. Anything less, and I need an hour or two of silence when I wake up. If you offer caffeine or sugar, I may grunt at you and possibly smile – consider that a victory.

I demand honesty at all times – even if (and especially when) it’s something I don’t want to hear. Talk to me straight no matter what, and you might earn my trust.

I can’t always find the words to speak my mind. I would prefer a keyboard and a blank screen. If I open my mouth and spill my guts to you, you’ve earned a portion of my trust.

I trust almost no one.

You know you’re a fixture in my life if I let you meet my children. If you don’t know their names, it’s because you haven’t knocked that wall down.

I’m a professional wall-builder. Don’t try too hard to knock them down. It takes time, patience, and a lot of other things most people don’t want to invest. It’s ok if you don’t want to get through my walls – it’s easier for both of us if you don’t, and I’m not offended.

If I let you see or hear me cry, we’re friends, good friends.

Don’t be too abrupt. Don’t be hasty. Don’t be impulsive. It scares me.

I am a people-watcher. I notice details. I read between the lines as I watch body language. I infer meaning that you might never have meant to convey to anyone. I do it to protect myself – I don’t know from what, but I know I do it.

Don’t assume anything by the expression on my face.I look serious because I’m thinking.

I think all the time.

I crave submission. I crave protection. I crave safety.

If you make me feel safe, you are in my heart. Don’t abuse that.

I come across as strong. I’m fragile as hell.

I don’t understand romance because I’ve never experienced it. Some of it seems silly to me. Most of it seems unreal.

I remember details, most of the time. I feel horrible when I forget one. I don’t expect you to remember details about me, but if you do, I’m pleasantly surprised, and I feel special.

I want to be special. I want to feel special. Everyone is special, and I want people in my life to know that.

When I care about someone, I hurt when they hurt, I laugh when they laugh.

I’m often loyal when I shouldn’t be. I’ve been stupidly loyal to people who didn’t give a shit about me. But when I’m over it, when I’m finally done, there is nothing that can be done to earn that loyalty back.

I have a big, loud laugh. It makes people turn their heads. I don’t care.

I talk with my hands. I talk too fast. I talk too loud. I interrupt.

I’m sarcastic and snarky, unless I think it might hurt someone’s feelings.

I believe you can’t un-say things, so I choose my words very carefully, often refusing to say anything so I don’t say something I can’t take back.

I’m sexual, but not openly so. Just because I flirt with someone doesn’t mean I’ll fuck them. I find it difficult to flirt in person with men I’m attracted to and easy to flirt with men that I don’t think want me. Less pressure, I guess. However, give me a keyboard and a blank screen, and I’m my most sexual with almost anyone who approaches me respectfully.

I like rough sex. I like pain. I like to be used. Until I don’t.

I like to be handled gently. I want to be cherished and cared for.

I’m not a mystery. I’m not confusing. I’m not a complete open-book, though. Unless I want to be.

I’m a screamer and a moaner, a thrasher and a writher. I’m a squirter and a gusher. Sometimes I revel in that about myself. Sometimes I shy away from it.

Sometimes I’m aggressive and outspoken, demanding to be heard and understood, almost angry in my attempts.

Sometimes I’m shy and introverted, desperate not to be seen, desperate to be left alone in a corner.

At times I can flash a smile so bright and genuine in appearance, I fool everyone around me. Sometimes, I can’t. Sometimes, I don’t want to.

I’m impatient. I’m greedy about the things I like and the things I want.

I try to be all things to all people – sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I don’t.

I want to love and be loved. I want to care for someone and be taken care of by that person. I want to feel things I’ve only read about in books and seen in movies. I want the fairy tale, but I don’t believe the fairy tale.

I’m a submissive woman looking for the Dominant who fits me.

I’m a single mother just trying to make it day by day on my own.

I’m a sexual being who’s waiting to write the next chapter.

I am a million more things than I could possibly ever put into words.

I’m waiting to be discovered…

About the author

Kayla Lords

I am a sex blogger, podcaster, freelance writer, international speaker, kink educator, and all-around kinky woman. You can find me online sharing my innermost sexual thoughts and experiences, teaching other bloggers how to make money writing about sex, and helping kinksters have happy healthy BDSM relationships. I'm also a masochistic babygirl submissive with an amazing and sadistic Daddy Dom and business partner, John Brownstone. Welcome to my kinky corner of the internet!


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